Tillman stared at the tooth stubs yellow as Chiclet candy.
“Whatcha want?” Melkie leaned back in the recliner, arms folded across his chest.
“Need to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind. Wanted to talk about your firing from Trident back on the first of June.”
Melkie sat up. “Did that old bitch Albright send you here? I ain’t never touched the woman and she got me let go by the company. For nothing.” The veins in his neck stretched and bulged with the violent pounding of blood.
“I take it you’re referring to Kathy Albright, your former supervisor?”
“She had it in for me from day one. Thought she was so much better ’n me and tried to boss me around all the time. I knew my job.”
“Yet you were the only one fired for insubordination. Everyone else must have got along with the new female supervisor with no problem,” Tillman noted, as if only mildly curious.
Jolene Babineaux had been murdered on June 3. Could this man have been so enraged at getting fired by a female boss that he’d taken it out on another woman? Maybe too much of a stretch, he mused. He was desperate to solve these murders.
Melkie settled back, visibly trying to control his emotions. “So what? I don’t need no woman telling me what to do every minute.”
Tillman raised a brow. “You got a problem accepting women in positions of authority?”
Melkie glowered. “Why you asking me? I’m drawing my pennies fair and square.”
Tillman raised his hands, palms up. “No one’s questioning your right to draw an unemployment check.” He scanned the room. Its most striking feature was the dozens of butterfly shadow boxes covering the walls. He went over to one and studied the specimens precisely pinned and labeled in carefully calligraphed specimen names—Boloria bellona, Strymon acis and Papilio troilus.
“You make this yourself?” he asked, not turning around.
“Yeah.”
Tillman walked a few feet farther into the home’s interior, the butterfly boxes giving way to other dead insect collections. The spider display sent itchy, crawly sensations up and down his arms. A bit creepy but not all that uncommon. A display of beetles with shiny metallic scales he could—almost—appreciate. But another collection stopped him short. He spun around to Melkie, who stood a couple of feet behind, arms crossed. “Bats? Where did you get them?”
“Got a bat house out front. Keeps the skeeters away.” Melkie stared him in the eye. “You didn’t come over here to look at my insect collection. What do you want?”
Tillman decided to go in for the kill, maybe catch this guy off guard. “Where were you on the night of September fifth?”
Melkie’s right eye twitched. “Home, I suppose. Why?”
“You read the papers? Watch the local news?”
“Sometimes.”
The dog went over to the far left corner of the room, mewling and digging his paws at a spot on the floor. “Get over here, Reb.” The scratching grew louder, more agitated. Melkie scooped the dog up in his arms and set him on the porch. He faced Tillman again, right eye twitching violently. “I don’t want to talk to you no more, unless you’re here to arrest me.”
“I’m just here to talk. If you keep up with the local news, you’ve got to know the big story this week.”
“’Course I do.” Melkie scowled and remained standing.
He was clamming up. “We’re going around the community, asking questions, trying to get to the bottom of these murders.”
“You been talking to the neighbors, too?”
“A few.”
“But why’d you ask me about my job? You running checks on everyone out here?”
Tillman hitched his uniform pants, drawing attention to the gun holster at the waistband. “I’m the one asking the questions here. Now, where were you on the night of September fifth?”
Melkie frowned. “Home. Where I always am.” Again the right-eye tick.
“Anyone who can provide an alibi?” Tillman took out his notebook, pen poised.
“No. Listen, I know my rights. I told you I was home.”
“Were you watching television that night?”
A crafty narrowing of Melkie’s eyes told Tillman he wasn’t going to fall into an easy trap of not remembering what shows played that day of the week.
“I drank some beer and dozed on and off that night.”
“No girlfriend with you?”
“Don’t got one.”
“Why not?”
“None of your business,” he snapped.
Tillman nodded at the corner of the room. “Why’s your dog so interested in that spot?”
“He’s a dog. How the hell should I know? Probably smelled a mouse or something.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
“Hell, yeah, I mind! Look, I don’t live in no fancy place. Every house ’round here’s got mice.”
“Calm down—”
“Go. I answered your questions. I ain’t got nothin’ else to say.” He opened the door.
Tillman stepped in front of Melkie, inches from his face. He lowered his voice, just a hint of warning. “You hiding anything, I’ll find out.”
“You threatening me?” His hands fisted and the tick in his right eye went into overdrive.
Tillman shrugged at the outraged words. Good, he’d shaken him up a little. Maybe this guy had nothing to hide. Maybe. But if he did, Tillman would find out. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Mr. Pellerin. Keep control of your dog as I exit your property.”
Rebel bounded inside. Tillman scanned the yard as he slowly walked to the cruiser, searching for anything unusual, all the while conscious of Pellerin glaring from the doorway.
Before entering the car, Tillman punched in Dismukes’s cell number. “Hey, Carl, I want to know everything there is to know on one Melkie Pellerin.” Tillman spoke loudly so Melkie could hear every word. Inside the car, Tillman asked his deputy to see what they could dig up and put a tail on him for a few days.
Tillman watched Melkie from his rearview mirror until he turned onto County Road 143. His last image was of Melkie holding Rebel in his arms, eyes hooded and inscrutable. What a creep. The possibility of Pellerin, or a man like him, targeting and harassing Shelly filled him with loathing and anger. What if her stalker and the bayou killer were one and the same person? The sense of urgency in finding the killer intensified. This was personal now.
A few minutes later, he circled back and began knocking on the doors of some of Melkie’s neighbors. At the fourth door down, he found someone home. It was opened by a man so skinny Tillman wondered if he might be eaten up with tuberculosis. The man coughed, sounding like his lungs were full of phlegm. Tillman resisted taking an instinctive step backward. “Billy Holcomb?” he asked.
“Yeah. Why you wanna know?” Billy’s hand gripped the door’s handle, as if deciding whether it would do any good to slam it shut on the law.
“Just asking a few questions about one of your neighbors. Do you know Melkie Pellerin?”
Billy relaxed and grinned, revealing a mouthful of unfortunate teeth. “Reckon I know him ’bout as well as anyone.” He motioned to a rickety porch rocker. “Have a seat, Mr.—?”
“Sheriff Angier.” Tillman sat gingerly atop the half-rotted chair.
Billy sat, reached inside dirty overalls and pulled out a pack of unfiltered Pall Malls.
“He’s a strange bird, that one is. Keeps to his self most the time.” Billy took a long drag, exhaling perfect smoke rings.
“You seen that dog of his?” He again continued without waiting for an answer. “We’ve had a few run-ins over that mutt. Every chance he gets, that dog goes after my Angel.”
“Your wife?” Tillman asked.
“No, my cat,” he said, opening the screen door where a fat orange tabby waddled out. Billy scooped her up. “She’s a healthy one, my girl is.”
“So I see.” Tillman reached out to the tabby, who hissed and rumbled a growl of warning. Some an
gel. Billy laughed so hard it induced a coughing fit. “About Pellerin—” Tillman prodded.
“Like I said, we’ve had a few words. Guy’s got a chip on his shoulder all the time. Don’t talk to nobody unless it’s some smart-ass remark.”
“Ever seen him in a physical fight?”
Billy scratched the whiskers on his leathered face. “Nope.”
“Does he have a girlfriend or entertain women at his house?”
“Only women I ever seen over there were his mom and two older sisters. Old lady died years ago and the sisters moved out long before that.”
“Did you know them?”
Billie’s lips curled and his eyes grew coy. “For the right price, anyone could get to know them.” He slapped his knees and hooted, which brought on another coughing spasm.
“All three were prostitutes?” Tillman stilled, his mind absorbing the implication.
“You oughta talk to Sammie Broward.” Billy pointed to a little pink house two doors down from Pellerin. “She used to be friends with the sisters.”
Tillman nodded and stood. “You’ve been a big help.”
Billy also stood, still holding the growling Angel. “If you take him away, make sure someone gets rid of that dog.”
Tillman got up and headed over to the Broward house. A child finally answered and directed him to the back porch.
Tillman quickly went down the steps and headed around the side of the house.
“She going to jail?” the boy asked, sounding curious.
A young woman in jeans and a red midriff top raised her head. “Fucking kid,” she mumbled. “Whatcha want?” She sat on a cement stoop and stared with eyes full of resentment.
“You’re in no trouble,” Tillman assured her. “Just a few quick questions. Heard you know Melkie Pellerin and his sisters.”
“So?”
Tillman sighed. “The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner I’ll leave.”
Sammie shrugged. “Haven’t seen Sissy or Mena in at least a couple years. They were pretty wild and left home soon as they could. Can’t blame them with that freaky ma of theirs.”
“Tell me why you think she was a freak.” Damn, it was humid; the September sun shone relentlessly. He eyed Sammie’s beer longingly.
She took a long swallow and wiped her mouth on her arm. She threw a cigarette on the ground and lit another. “Mrs. P. was a whore. And a bitch, too. One day she slapped Mena so hard she had a bruise on her face for a week. All because Mena made too much noise when she got home from school. Three o’clock in the fucking afternoon and Mrs. P. still sleeping.”
“How did she treat Melkie?”
Sammie scowled. “We hated that kid. Always wanting to tag along everywhere we went.”
He tried again. “What was his relationship like with his mother?”
“Never saw them too much together. Their house wasn’t much fun to hang around in.” Sammie narrowed her eyes. “Who’s in trouble?”
“Nobody. Yet.”
“Right. You’re just curious about the goings-on here in the Hollows.” She took a deep drag. “My bet’s on Melkie. Strange kid. Kept to himself, mostly.”
“Maybe he had a reserved nature,” Tillman said.
“And maybe he was psycho. Melkie had these ‘killing jars’ he used to trap and kill insects.” Sammie stood and ground out the cigarette with her sandal. “We through now?”
Tillman withdrew a card. “You think of anything, or see anything unusual at the Pellerin household, call me.”
Sammie went to the door, ignoring his outstretched hand with the card. “Do I look like a fucking snitch to you?” She went in, slamming the door behind her.
Chapter 7
They’re coming to get you
You know it’s true
And oh the price you’ll pay
Forever, each and every day.
The smell of chlorine was getting to her. The graph lines on the clients’ progress charts blurred and Shelly rubbed her eyes. After being unable to sleep last night and the emotionally charged morning, she’d thrown herself into her job. It was way after hours, and everyone had gone, but she shut the door of the cramped office and changed into a swimsuit before gathering her things in a tote and heading to the pool. She walked into the shallow end, enjoying the water’s liquid embrace as she sank her body into its arms.
Heaven.
God, how she missed her ocean swims. The killer had ruined that. She couldn’t fathom the idea of another unexpected encounter. It didn’t stop Jet and Lily, but they hadn’t seen the dead body. No, she wouldn’t think of that now. This time was hers alone.
Although the pool lacked the sea’s vitality, Shelly luxuriated in its warm comfort...so like a lover. She floated, alone in the immense indoor pool. The background noise of the pump echoed like a lullaby. Only a few overhead fluorescent lights glowed and, through the high windows, Shelly made out the silhouette of a crescent moon. Maybe she should stay all night, sink to the bottom of the pool and sleep like a baby.
Shelly weightlessly relaxed mind and body, the water a cushion, soothing as a mother’s embrace. She dozed, sinking into dreamless nether regions, floating in and out of awareness.
Wham. A loud metallic clang reverberated in the empty pool room.
Shelly jerked and sputtered in the deep end. Hadn’t she locked all the doors after everyone left for the day? Heavy footsteps clonked ponderously down a hallway, coming closer.
Probably one of the staff coming back for something they forgot. Yet her body jazzed with adrenaline, mind racing in alarm. She had two options if the killer had traced her here—dive to the bottom of the pool and stay there, hiding, or run to the office and lock herself in.
At the creak of the pool room door, Shelly dove straight down and hugged the concrete bottom. Shit. She remembered her bag with her clothes and phone by the pool side. Maybe whoever it was would think it belonged to someone who had left earlier and forgot it.
The water pressure built in her ears; she could hear nothing from above. Shelly realized the insanity of staying under. If he was looking for her, he would see her in the pool. It wasn’t like she was invisible. There was a third option, entice him to come in the water after her where she could have a fighting chance.
Shelly swam to the surface and raised her head like a periscope on an espionage submarine confronting an enemy. A male figure stood at the end of the pool.
Brown pressed uniform, shiny star badge. Tillman. She let out a gigantic swoosh of relief.
“Shelly? Holy hell, woman, you about scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know you were in the pool.” Tillman’s face held that curious expression of relief coupled with exasperation. He raked a hand through his sandy short-cropped hair.
“I scared you? I thought I’d locked all the doors.” She swam to the shallow end where he stood.
“You did. I saw your car out front when I was driving home and decided to swing by. Jim Atkins was just leaving. Said to remind you to lock up again when you go.”
The adrenaline left in one fell swoop and Shelly felt giddy as the tension left. It was so damn good to see Tillman. She couldn’t help it, the man excited her like no one else had ever done.
He knelt down on one foot. “Any more phone calls?”
Shelly blinked. She’d been so relieved to see Tillman she almost forgot how mad she was at him.
Almost.
“Checking up on me?” She came out of the water and sidestepped his crouching body.
He rose and touched her arm. “No, making sure you’re okay. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” she said coldly, averting her face. “You can go now.”
“Damn it, Shelly, cut me some slack. I can’t help feeling like you’re holding something back.”
“We all have our secrets.”
“Not me,” he denied, frowning. “What you see is what you get.”
“Oh, really? If you’re such an open book, why were you sneaking pict
ures of stuff in our house? Why didn’t you question me more about it instead of acting like a jerk?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m willing to let this matter drop. I’m in the middle of a murder investigation and don’t have time to wonder anymore about your property.”
“I’m not dropping anything,” she countered, crossing her arms as he did. “You violated our privacy.”
“I’ve already apologized for that. Besides, don’t you have more important things to worry about? Like your stalker?” He looked around the vacant pool room and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be out alone at night. At least not until the killer is found.”
“Your concern is touching.” Shelly jerked a towel off a poolside lounge chair and vigorously began rubbing it into her wet hair. She had to get rid of him. He was too close, too accessible in the empty, private area. Too much temptation. “Now go away and leave me alone.”
Tillman’s eyes narrowed as he watched her towel-dry her hair. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”
She stilled. “What do you mean?”
“You were vague about the guy following you this morning. You felt threatened by him, yet you failed to get his license plate number or provide a detailed description.”
“I was scared. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” What a colossal mistake this morning had been. Neither of them was any closer to knowing the killer’s identity. At least she’d seen the photographs and realized the extent of Tillman’s suspicious nature. She threw the towel back down on the chair.
He held up a hand. “Fair enough. I didn’t come here to argue.”
“Sure fooled me.”
“Damn it, Shelly, I couldn’t stop thinking about you today. Couldn’t stop wondering if you might be in some kind of trouble.”
His voice was rough with emotion and Shelly’s own throat constricted involuntarily in response. Tillman cared. It was a start, something she could work with. Something in her face must have betrayed her emotions because he stepped closer, placed a finger under her chin and guided her face to his. “Let’s start over.”
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